


Tuesday's Children

by qwerty



Series: Summerpornathon 2011 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Community: summerpornathon, Imprisonment, Multi, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwerty/pseuds/qwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Round 3 of Summerpornathon, Challenge 2, Kink Grab Bag: (a) exhibitionism, (b) multiple partners, (c) non-con or dub-con, (d) washing/cleaning, (e) food porn (sex with food or beverages). Joke entry, not submitted.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Tuesday's Children

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 3 of Summerpornathon, Challenge 2, Kink Grab Bag: (a) exhibitionism, (b) multiple partners, (c) non-con or dub-con, (d) washing/cleaning, (e) food porn (sex with food or beverages). Joke entry, not submitted.

"As promised, King Uther stands before you, unarmed and uncovered as a sign of good faith."

The Dragonlord's voice trembles, less confident than you wished, and the vast underground cavern you chose for your meeting, in spite of the fires and torches you ordered lit, is oppressively dark, with unpredictable bone-chilling drafts raising goosebumps on your sweat-sheened skin.

In answer to the Dragonlord's summons, the Great Dragon crawls from the shadows to stand before you.

You force yourself to return that steady alien regard, fighting the urge to cover your naked body, especially as it bends lower and hot breath rushes over your lower body and around your legs, causing your errant member to fill and rise. The dragon rears back, all awful majesty, and rumbles deep in its chest, but even the humiliation and the returned chill fail to bring down your stubborn tumescence.

The Dragonlord averts his face from your shame as the rumbling grows into mocking laughter, then the Dragon's head snaps down to your level once more, and this time you cannot help but flinch. _Closer_ , you think.

"Do not turn away, Balinor! Look upon this man you call king. You will trust his promises? He is covered in the reek of blood and deceit. I should simply crush his bones and swallow him, and finish this farce here."

Scaled lips draw back, and you think for a moment that your life will end here ( _at last_ ), then the Dragonlord jumps forward and thrusts his hand into its mouth, seizing it by a tooth. "Kilgharrah, no! You promised to hear him out. Please, if you truly wish for an end to this bloodshed, stop and listen."

And it obeys, ludicrously, allows the Dragonlord to stay it with no more than that. Fools. You stand and tremble helplessly as it turns, the Dragonlord's hand trapped gently in its jaws, pulling him forward. The rough scales on the side of its mouth brush against your cringing belly.

You suck in a shaky breath, and it presses in harder, smooth, sharp-edged scales like a hundred knives all down your front from your chest to your thighs. You groan; dragon and Dragonlord both still.

"We cannot speak of an end to bloodshed while he stinks of it," the dragon snarls, and the barest, almost imperceptible move of its muzzle sends you tumbling forcefully to the dirt floor.

Then it begins to lave you with its tongue, the Dragonlord dumbstruck, eyes wild and dark while you cry out again and again at the sensation of hard, wet muscle sliding firmly all over your body. The tongue, pulsing with furnace-hot blood beneath the nubbled surface, nudges in the pits of your arms, the dip of your navel, presses between your legs, scrubs over your chest and belly and down once more, and rips out your unwilling release along with a scream, swiping over you a final time to paint you in your own essence before finally withdrawing, the Dragonlord still hanging feebly to its tooth as though he, too, had been ravaged by the monster.

One more step to the side, and _yes_ , the trap is sprung, a manacle snapping shut around its ankle, just as Gaius promised.

The dragon roars and blasts the upper reaches of the cavern with useless rage as the manacle and chain light up with magical sigils - the last and only worthwhile use of this accursed power Camelot will see while you live.

"Kilgharrah, what is this?" asks the Dragonlord, tremulous as a lost child's.

"Your promised peace," the dragon says, and begins to laugh, mad and bitter.

You steady your breaths and find the robe you cast off at the entrance to the cavern, wrapping it tightly around yourself and pressing your legs together to try to push away the remembered sensation of its tongue and your body's treachery. "You will never see the open sky again, foul creature," you begin, "and you, Dragonlord..."

Before you can call for the guards to arrest him, the dragon snatches up the Dragonlord in its jaws and leaps up, soaring up to fling him out the roof opening with a toss of its head just as the chain snaps taut.

"Why did you come, if you knew what would happen?" you demand, shivering as the drying mingled fluids on your body prickle on your skin.

"All is as it was meant to be," the dragon says, and vanishes into the darkness, leaving you alone.


End file.
